


Weft

by shinigami714



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotions, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/pseuds/shinigami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is a bit of an emotional wreck after the BOTFA, but a certain Dwarf is there to weave him back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weft

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the tension of Sore Must Be the Storm, and so asked for some Thilbo ideas on tumblr. This is the first one I got and I went with it. Suggested by thegreensorceress on tumblr. It was meant to be quite short, but developed a bit further than originally intended.

Bilbo’s feet pattered across the cold stone floors beneath the lonely mountain, though he supposed it wasn’t so lonely anymore. After all, the dwarves had reclaimed their home, and even at such a late hour Bilbo could hear the clanging sounds of the mines echoing through the halls. But he felt lonely. He was the only Hobbit for miles upon miles, and though many members of the company considered him a friend, he knew such a place was not where he belonged. Thorin had made that absolutely clear, nearly tossing him like a rat from the mountainside. He felt cold, and not for the first time since he’d left his home in the Shire, wished he had shoes to wear upon his feet. Hobbits weren’t made for climbing across snowy mountain passes, nor were they made for walking in the caverns of a stone Kingdom. They weren’t made for going on adventures, and they certainly weren’t made for battles.

Bilbo paused and closed his eyes, willing away the memories of those falling to their deaths all around him. Mercifully he’d managed to scrape by with no more than a scratch or two and some rather painful bruises. But mentally, he was permanently tarnished. Bilbo had moved across the muddy field witnessing as elves took arrows and spears to their necks, as dwarves were axed and orcs spat on the faces of those they murdered. He had been unable to help anyone at all, cowardly shoving Sting into the legs of goblins under the cover of his magical ring. He had been little help at all on the field, frozen in shock for much of the fighting; only managing to push the occasional Dwarf away from danger. Bilbo was not the same Hobbit he once was, and he desperately wanted someone to hold him, whisper in his ear, and tell him everything would be alright.

Weeks after the battle Bilbo still found himself waking from nightmares in his tiny guestroom. He did his best to keep himself from crying out each time, but it was getting harder by the day, and the dark stony room was no comfort to him when he woke. He wasn’t quite sure what kept him there; after all, Thorin had made it very clear he was unwanted, and to be honest, Bilbo sought nothing more than to curl up in his Hobbit hole and pretend he’d never met a Dwarf by the name of Thorin Oakenshield. The Dwarven King was greed ridden, foolish, and rash. He was nothing but trouble, had no concern for others, he was unwavering and strong willed, and his eyes were the purest blue Bilbo had ever seen.

He was such an idiot. A silly, stupid, reckless, poor excuse for a Hobbit.

He knew exactly why he had stayed. Despite his anger at the insufferable Dwarf for his completely ridiculous and foolhardy actions, despite his sadness at being cast away as a traitor, despite his regret for the choices he made, Bilbo still held a special place in his heart for Thorin Oakenshield. A place that would never be occupied by another. As much as Bilbo wished he could close up that section of his being, it was just impossible. He loved the Dwarven King, always would love him, and it made the pain of rejection all the worse.

He knew that when Thorin woke, he would be forced to leave the mountain, to make the journey home and begin the long and arduous process of trying to forget the fact he’d ever left on an adventure to begin with. But he would stay, until that day, for one last look into Thorin’s steely blue eyes, just to make sure the Dwarf was alive and as well as one could be after taking a sword to the chest.

Balin had reassured him that Thorin would recover swiftly. Though it may have seemed his chances were slim at first, he’d fought through the worst of it. And apparently Dwarves had an uncanny ability to recover in the blink of an eye after getting through the initial dangers of an injury. Balin asserted that in no time at all, Thorin would be up and walking around, insisting on taking over his duties as King. Bilbo snorted bitterly. There was a brief moment in time Bilbo thought those duties might include himself. That perhaps he might have a place at Thorin’s side after everything was finished. But he was a Hobbit, not a Dwarf. He would never really belong at his side.

Bilbo’s eyes grew wet and he breathed in deeply, slowly allowing his body to slide down the stone wall. He was a fool to think he’d ever be able to put any of this behind him. The memories were too strong, too clear, and far too perfect for him to ever forget. He recalled the flash of hope that ignited inside of him the very first time Thorin looked towards him with an emotion other than hatred in his eyes. That gaze was what started it all, causing his gut to tingle uncomfortably and turning him into a clumsy blubbering mess. The feeling of the Dwarf King’s arms wrapped about his frame had cleared his mind, pushing away any and all thoughts of orcs, goblins and whatever other nasty creatures they had come across.

Then it became a bit more than just hope, when the Dwarf had unexpectedly whispered into his ear one eve after dinner. They were feasting in the comfort of Beorn’s home, and Thorin had clearly drunk more than he usually allowed himself to. The Dwarf’s cheeks had been just a tad rosier, and his demeanor much more relaxed. His timbre shook to Bilbo’s very core. The words spoken had been unfamiliar, a foreign tongue, one that Thorin was obviously well versed in. They sounded like silk against his ear, and when Thorin stood and moved to leave, looking the Hobbit head to toe like a piece of meat, Bilbo rose as well and followed after him like some kind of lost puppy.

He did not know what had come over him. It was as though Thorin had cast some sort of spell on his body, bewitching him like a devil in disguise. He’d allowed the Dwarf to have him, in the wild, atop the grass; just outside Beorn’s barn. It had all felt so real, so loving, as though he had found another place to call home, in the arms of another. The following day not a single word was spoken of their shared evening together, nor in the many days that followed. But the hatred he had seen, in Thorin’s penetrating gaze, and the absolute scorn in his voice upon casting him away, told him everything he needed to know. Thorin did not love him, had never loved him in return. He had merely thrown his inhibitions to the side for an evening and taken pleasure from the nearest willing being.

Bilbo inhaled quickly trying to stop the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, but he could not. They streamed down his face and he sobbed, alone, and curled into himself against the wall. His shoulders shook as he cried, his face grew red and blotchy, and his nose became so stuffed he could barely breathe. He was an absolute wreck. Oh how he wished he’d never signed that absurd contract. He should have stayed inside, like a good Hobbit from the Shire. He should have restocked his pantry, tidied his house, fixed his door, and gone on with life as though thirteen dwarves never frolicked around within his humble home. Perhaps then his heart would not have torn into a thousand pieces, perhaps then he might still call himself whole.

Bilbo’s muffled cries echoed down the hall, and he flinched each time he heard the unattractive sound of his nose sniffling. He cried until his throat grew dry, his eyes felt heavy, and his head throbbed painfully with each beat of his heart. He was still sobbing softly when he heard a light scuffing not far away, and Bilbo opened his eyes quickly and stared into his hands for a moment before lifting his gaze to the side.

The very Dwarf he could not eradicate from his mind stood just a few feet away, looking down upon him with an unreadable expression across his face. Thorin Oakenshield was impressive as always, even half wrapped up in bandages, and wearing little more than a pair of trousers and a robe casually splayed over his broad shoulders. Bilbo could still see the light stains of blood through the bandages on Thorin’s chest, and yet the Dwarf appeared mobile enough, though just a tad weary around the edges. His eyes were drawn and darker than usual, though lacking the menace Bilbo had last seen within them, and his beard and hair were unkempt and falling in messy waves about his shoulders. The Hobbit stared into the blue depths of Thorin’s eyes, searching for something and finding little, but still the relief he felt upon seeing the other alive and well brought a tiny breath of air forth from his lips.

The two stared at each other for several moments; both struck still in their spots, until Thorin took an additional step closer and finally spoke.

“Bilbo…,” he murmured, his sultry deep voice loud in the quiet and empty hall.

“You’re still here,” he continued, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, his lips parted as though he meant to say more but could not form the words. Thorin’s voice broke Bilbo from his stupor and the Hobbit blinked several times, flushing further when he realised how awful he must look. He sniffled once or twice and calmed himself with a deep breath before standing up, his hands resting awkwardly against the stone behind him.

“I am glad to see you are well,” Bilbo whispered, pulling his gaze from the Dwarf, unable to bear his judgement any longer. It was clear the Dwarf was confused as to why he still sought refuge within the mountain, when his commands had been quite clear that Bilbo was to depart and never be seen again.

“Well, I guess…it’s time for me to take my leave,” he admitted, smiling painfully and closing his eyes as he prepared to make himself scarce.  

“You have your mountain back, and your jewel, I’ve done my part,” Bilbo spoke, before he pushed himself away from the wall with the intention of returning to his room. He’d taken but a few steps when he was stopped in his tracks by the Dwarf King’s bold tenor.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your part of the reward,” he boomed, and Bilbo was sure his voice must have carried to every corner of the mountain. The Hobbit closed his eyes, trying to contain his temper. Not once since he’d left his home in Bag End had Bilbo spent a single moment in time thinking about whatever reward may await him at the end of his journey. He didn’t want payment; he didn’t care about any of that!

“You…,” he mumbled under his breath, his eyebrow twitching angrily. Suddenly Bilbo turned, his eyes wide and dangerous as they locked onto Thorin’s confused face.

“You idiotic…,” he seethed, taking just a few steps towards the other, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“You completely intolerable…,” he continued, his lips parting in an unattractive grimace.

“Irrational, thoughtless, stupid, stupid, stupid Dwarf!” Bilbo shouted, heaving as he glared daggers at the King before him. Thorin’s eyebrows were high in surprise as he watched the tiny being lose control.

“You think I care about gold and jewels?!” Bilbo screamed in exasperation. He’d never felt such anger in his life before.

“I thought…I thought you were…I thought you would never wake again! I saw a blade pierce through your chest for goodness sake!” Bilbo howled, his eyebrows knitting together as he gestured fiercely towards the bandages wrapped around the Dwarf. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes again but still he plowed on.

“I thought you d-dead, Thorin!” Bilbo gasped, his voice breaking ever so slightly. His eyes were filling with water and he knew his nose must have been redder than his housecoat back home.

“I’ve had enough of all this, I want to go home, I want to forget any of this ever happened. If I never heard hide nor hair of gold again I’d be happier for it, Thorin you fool,” he stuttered, and finally the droplets began to escape over his lashes and drip down his cheeks, adding yet more trails on his tearstained face. Thorin stood frozen in place, his eyes glued to Bilbo, though his gaze gave no hint of what the Dwarf was thinking in that moment.

“I should have known better than to set foot out my door, to f-follow along with the hopes that…, y-you might…,” Bilbo chastised himself, stopping only because he’d begun to truly sob again. He brought a hand to his face and covered his eyes shamefully, wiping away some of the tears and running his fingers up into his soft brown curls.

“I’m such an idiot. A real fool of a Took,” he whispered under his breath, taking in deep gasps of air in an attempt to calm himself. Still Thorin stood motionless, his fingers clenching in his robe the only sign he wasn’t a marble statue. The silence between them was deafening and Bilbo let out a tiny chuckle before raising his grief-ridden eyes to Thorin one last time.

“I really should be going, I’m sorry; I’ve more than overstayed my welcome,” he admitted, turning as fast as his little Hobbit legs could manage and striding away down the hall.

“Wait!” Thorin suddenly shouted, as though he was shouting an order to an entire army. Bilbo stopped in fear at the command.

“Wait, please,” he requested again, much quieter this time, and the Hobbit turned in surprise. Never had he heard such a desperate tone from the Dwarf before.  Their eyes connected again, and this time Bilbo saw a pain there he was not expecting, and a desperate plea that went unspoken. Thorin unexpectedly strode towards him, the Dwarf’s features determined as he reached a strong hand about Bilbo’s wrist and made to pull him down the hall.

“Thorin, what are you-,” Bilbo started, turning to follow as he had little other choice in the matter.

“Come with me,” Thorin interrupted calmly, turning down a series of hallways with a clear direction in mind. Though his grip held fast, it was gentle at the same time and Bilbo scurried along behind him, his little legs working twice as fast to keep up with the Dwarf’s steady pace.

“Where are you taking me?” Bilbo demanded, growing a tiny bit frustrated at the abrupt behaviour.

“Hush,” the Dwarf intoned, still offering no explanation. Thorin was breathing heavily, the movements taking a toll on his body and Bilbo worriedly watched as he pushed himself to continue.

“Thorin, don’t be silly, you need to rest, whatever this is can wait!” Bilbo pleaded, but Thorin only frowned and tightened his grip around the Hobbit’s wrist.

“I have been resting long enough,” he growled. Several pathways more and Bilbo began to recognize their location, his eyes narrowing as they stepped through the next set of heavy doors. He had to squint and cover his eyes to block out the shine of the gold scattered all around. Even under the low lit lanterns there was so much of it that the light bounced around, filling the entire room in an eerie golden glow.

“Why would you bring me here of all places?” demanded of the Hobbit, tearing his arm from the other’s grip and turning towards him bitterly. He was not met with the expression he expected to see. Thorin’s eyes were fixed directly on him, not upon the multitude of fortune spread out behind him.

“You’re right Bilbo Baggins. I have been a fool. I am everything you say I am, among other things,” Thorin admitted.

“But none of this means anything to me, not anymore,” he spoke, gesturing to the entirety of the room.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Bilbo whispered, his eyes timidly looking away from the Dwarf’s penetrating stare.

“You let your greed control your actions once already Thorin, what’s stopping it from happening again?” Bilbo asked wildly.

“You think me so weak willed?” Thorin questioned, his voice obviously irritated at the other’s lack of trust in him.

“You nearly threw me from a mountain top for a piece of treasure!” Bilbo shouted, though he nearly recoiled at the thought that he may have insulted the Dwarf before him. Instead Thorin merely jolted and shamefully looked away from him.

“Look upon the Arkenstone, and tell me it does not call to you,” Bilbo asked of him regretfully. He knew what he would see. He would see that same longing he’d seen before. That crazed possessiveness that scared him so. Thorin’s eyes glanced towards Bilbo and then behind him, towards the sculpture above his throne in which the precious stone was meant to stay. As Bilbo turned to do the same he gasped in surprise. The Arkenstone was missing. Bilbo turned wide eyes towards the King fearing the worst. Had it been stolen? Or was Thorin merely keeping it close at all times? The Dwarf seemed remarkably calm as he looked towards his throne. There was no longing in his expression, and no worry, in fact he seemed almost relieved.

“I have already ordered Balin to destroy the Arkenstone,” Thorin divulged, drawing a surprised gasp from his companion.

“I thought it best I never lay eyes upon it again. It has been a curse upon my family for far too long. I will not allow it to continue controlling me, or my nephews after I am gone,” he spoke, finally pulling his gaze from the throne to look at Bilbo.

“I feel no overwhelming desire for it any longer, not after the things it has made me do, those whom it has made me hurt,” he confessed, moving a step closer to Bilbo and lifting his lips in a hint of a smile.

“I will, always be drawn to gold. It is in my nature, as a Dwarf,” Thorin voiced softly. His expression was a tad regretful, but he seemed almost mirthful at the same time and Bilbo found himself smiling slightly in return.

“I cannot take back the crimes I have already committed. I can only hope to gain forgiveness for my actions,” the Dwarf stepped forward then, reaching out with a finger to wipe at Bilbo’s tear streaked face.   The Hobbit’s steady breaths grew uneven and shaky and he leant slightly into the touch.

“Why can’t you just say sorry like everyone else? Blasted Dwarf,” he muttered with a hint of a grin. Thorin smiled apologetically and stepped even closer.

“Words…have never been my strength,” the Dwarf admitted, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. Bilbo snorted loudly and held back a grin. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry and he found himself unable to look at the other directly.

“Well you might want to work on that…if you’re going to officially be King, you know,” he chastised, trying to brush off the awkward atmosphere with his nonsensical rambling. He continued to mutter about the idiocy of dwarves and how he would never understand the reasoning behind their foolhardiness when his face was completely encased in two sturdy hands. Thorin was studying him intently and rubbing callused thumbs across his cheeks and Bilbo felt his face growing hot. It was almost loving, the way Thorin stared into his eyes.

“You look worn,” The Dwarf mentioned, frowning as though the very thought upset him. Bilbo’s breath hitched and he struggled to form a sentence.

“…I…I’m as well as a Hobbit away from home can be…I s-suppose,” he nattered, thinking about how terrible the past few days had felt, how little sleep he’d managed to obtain. He _was_ worn. He felt exhaustion creeping up inside of him as the stress from the past weeks slowly abated.

“You…do not consider this your home?” Thorin whispered, pulling the Hobbit from his thoughts. When Bilbo focused on him he nearly gasped in surprise. The Dwarf looked distraught, his blue eyes shining and filled with a deep regret.

“I…,” Bilbo stammered, confused by the emotion the Dwarf was revealing. Perhaps it was because they were alone, or perhaps just the aftermath of war, but Thorin rarely showed any kind of emotion, unless it was anger directed at his enemies.

“I was afraid to hope…,” Bilbo whispered, staring right back into those vibrant blue depths. Was it truly possible the Dwarf cared for him on some level?

“You were drunk, you didn’t really…,” the Hobbit strayed off, not wanting to jump to conclusions and convince himself that emotions existed when it was just wishful thinking. The Dwarf was looking at him with an expression so very familiar, one Bilbo had seen only once before, as he was laid out on the ground and covered by this being that held his heart. But Thorin was not drunk this time. Bilbo would have been able to smell the alcohol on his breath at such close proximity, and the only scent his sensitive nose took note of was Thorin’s distinct rugged musk. It made Bilbo shiver in anticipation; it made him want things he knew were well out of his reach.

In that moment Thorin seemed to make a decision, his eyes narrowing and his lips forming a straight line. Bilbo could see his nostrils widen with an intake of air, and then the heady smell of Dwarf enveloped him as rough lips pressed against his own. Bilbo’s hands reached forwards in reaction, meaning to clutch onto the nearest object, instead they brushed up against heated skin, and his hands delicately stoked across wiry hairs and muscle until they reached the edges of the wrappings about Thorin’s body. A high pitched noise formed in Bilbo’s throat that shamefully escaped as a persistent tongue probed between his lips and into his mouth. The Dwarf’s broad hands had shifted, one moving behind his neck and pulling gently at his curls, the other sliding down and finding purchase at his back, pressing their bodies closer together.

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped, when the Dwarf finally broke away from his lips. Their heated breaths ghosted across each other’s faces and Bilbo’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks nervously. He was afraid. So very afraid that if he opened his eyes, everything he longed for would disappear, and the love he felt in that kiss would be long gone.   They stayed closed as Thorin pressed their brows together firmly, and as gentle kisses were painted across his brow and the bridge of his nose.

“Your lips tasted of honey the first time I kissed you,” Thorin muttered, drawing Bilbo from his self-induced dreamland.   He was pleasantly surprised to find the Dwarf still there, still holding him so gently and gazing at him in adoration.

“What do they taste of now?” Bilbo asked, drawing a pained grimace from the other.

“Tears,” the Dwarf answered woefully.

“Tears I have caused,” Thorin’s fingers still twisted in Bilbo’s hair and he was suddenly drawn up into a powerful embrace. It was not unlike the first time Thorin had pulled him tight to his chest, so many weeks ago atop the carrack. Bilbo’s feet lifted up and he barely managed to stay rooted on his toes, relying mostly on the Dwarf’s incredible strength to hold him upright. Bilbo inhaled against Thorin’s neck, drinking in his scent and hugging him back just as tight. He never wanted to let go.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered into his ear, his grip around him remaining steady.

“Our first night together, I remember it vividly,” he voiced, and Bilbo felt his body heat up from head to toe.

“The way your hair glowed under the soft candlelight, the way you felt as I sank into you, the way you looked as you held fast to me, the way you tried to hold in your voice,” he continued and pulled away from the embrace, finally allowing Bilbo’s feet to return completely to the ground. Thorin’s head shook slightly in disbelief as he gazed down the length of his companion’s body, and Bilbo figured his skin would burn completely off if he flushed any redder.

“I may have had more to drink than usual, but I was far from drunk, you would have known if I was drunk,” the Dwarf commented, smirking playfully. It was true, when Bilbo thought on it a bit more. He had seen the way increased alcohol intake affected the rest of the dwarves. Fíli and Kíli had become an unintelligible mess once they drank one too many ales. They sang and laughed like fools, danced on tables, and acted like complete imbeciles before falling over and passing out cold. Even the most reserved of the dwarves were exceedingly rowdy and playful when intoxicated. Thorin’s eyes had remained clear through everything, decisive, and focused, just as they were now.

Thorin was looking at him with such passion, licking his lips enticingly, almost as though he meant to ravage Bilbo at their very location. The Hobbit’s lip trembled slightly and he dropped his gaze, taking in Thorin’s toned frame and making note of the building arousal he could see in the Dwarf’s loose breeches. It made him long to be touched, just like that night on their journey, and Bilbo leant forwards slightly, drawn towards the heat of Thorin’s body.

“I knew exactly what I was doing,” The King insisted, and Bilbo’s eyes flickered up towards Thorin’s defined jaw. A hand reached out and steadied him as he lost his balance, and then thick fingers were trailing down his shirt and flicking buttons from their holes. Bilbo’s breaths came in uneven gasps, and he realised that Thorin did mean to have him there. The Hobbit could not find it in himself to make him stop, no matter how uncouth or un Hobbit-like it was to make love in public like an animal.   Before long, Bilbo’s shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, and Thorin’s hands ran gentle trails down the soft skin of his chest and belly. He had long since hardened below, his arousal pressing painfully against the fabric of his slacks, and Bilbo held his small hands low to hide his shame.  The Dwarf seemed completely comfortable showing off his impressive girth, and apparently found no shame in the idea of making love in a place where anyone could walk by and see. It may have been late in the evening, but dwarves were often active at different times of the day, and there were guards about well through the night. Bilbo supposed it was a cultural thing. A Hobbit would not be caught dead in such a compromising position, but even on their journey he had heard several of the dwarves getting up to no good not far away from the company, and sometimes even spotted the couples making love in plain sight.

Thorin’s hands were creeping beneath the fabric of his pants, his fingers beginning to splay out against Bilbo’s hips and rear, and the Hobbit let out a soft moan and pressed his head against the other’s chest. Sod it but Bilbo found he was enjoying the thrill. Perhaps it was the Took in him, his slight penchant for adventure and trouble. He glanced suddenly up into Thorin’s eyes, his lips parted and ready to ask the Dwarf for more, when he caught sight of a golden light glinting off the Dwarf’s irises. Bilbo’s eyes widened suddenly and he gasped in horror. The gold! They were still amongst the gold.

“Wait!” Bilbo hissed, and he pushed himself away from the Dwarf’s surprisingly gentle hold on his body. Thorin looked confused, and a little hurt, and Bilbo quickly calmed him.

“It’s n-not that I don’t want to. Just…not here,” the words came out pleadingly and Thorin’s expression quickly changed to one of understanding. The Dwarf peered at their surroundings, studying the mountains of riches around them. Of course Bilbo would not wish to be held in such a place, amongst the very reason for all of their trouble. It was too great a reminder, Arkenstone or not.

“Where?” Thorin asked eagerly. Bilbo was stunned. He had not expected the Dwarf to so easily accept his wishes, and without a single word of question.

“W-what? I-I, I don’t know,” Bilbo stuttered in surprise. He was at a loss. He had not actually thought the Dwarf would wish to…continue elsewhere. Thorin seemed so different without the weight of his people’s expectations and the stress of reclaiming his home on his shoulders. He was still the same Dwarf, with the same commanding presence, the same strength and fierce determination. But there was something else there, creeping beneath the surface. Something exciting, and playful, something Bilbo anticipated witnessing more of. Thorin stepped close to him again, leaning forwards so their lips nearly connected.

“Show me where I can have you,” he requested, his hand trailing beneath Bilbo’s navel and latching on to the front of his bottoms. Bilbo let out a squeak, and looked around them anxiously, his eyes latching on to the shadows of dwarves moving across distant ledges in the large room.

“You have spent more than a year following in my wake, now it is my turn to follow you,” Thorin spoke. He grasped one of Bilbo’s hands in his free one and lifted it, placing a gentle kiss between two of the knuckles. Bilbo felt like giggling at the action, but in truth he found it very sweet. Five minutes later found the two striding down the cavernous halls of Erebor, glancing around corners secretively.

“This is completely ridiculous,” Bilbo muttered under his breath, pulling a chuckling Thorin along behind him. He felt like a teenager again, sneaking out at night and getting into trouble. He bit his lip and took another turn leading the two down a dimly lit hall.

“You shouldn’t even be out of bed, you’re not recovered yet,” Bilbo chastised, with a backwards glance at the Dwarf following in his footsteps.

“Then take me back to bed?” Thorin teased, his dark eyebrows lowering in a mischievous manner. Bilbo froze, turning to place his hands on his hips.

“Anyone could see us in your rooms,” he said in exasperation.

“Would you prefer to go to your rooms?” Thorin asked, clearly eager to get down to business, but Bilbo’s heart grew cold at the suggestion.

“No!” he practically shouted, and again Thorin stared at him in surprise. Bilbo shifted his eyes away from Thorin, calming down.

“No…, anywhere but there,” it came out much softer the second time, and he curled into himself slightly with insecurity. Bilbo had no fond memories of that cold stone room. The nightmares he’d experienced there and the terrifying loneliness, he never wanted to connect the two with his love for Thorin. He cursed himself for ruining what might have been a wonderful night, and held his arms tight to his chest anxiously. Bilbo felt a finger beneath his chin and he looked up towards the Dwarf. Thorin’s expression was tender, but his eyes were still alight with want.

“Here then,” he uttered, looking towards the other beseechingly.

“W-what?” Bilbo sputtered, completely caught off guard.

“Are you out of your mind, here in the halls?” he hissed, turning to look each direction. Not a soul was in sight, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t suddenly show up.

“No. Absolutely not!” Bilbo insisted, backing away and tugging his shirt closed at his front. Thorin was on him instantly, pushing his smaller body up against the cold stone wall, and leaning to nip at his ear.

“I said I would follow you, but my patience is growing thin. Take me somewhere I can have you or you will find yourself spread against a wall,” Thorin warned, his breath tickling the rim of Bilbo’s ear. The Hobbit pressed himself as far back as he could manage, looking at the other searchingly. Thorin’s gaze was almost desperate with need, but Bilbo felt no ill will.

“Just…just come on,” the Hobbit spoke softly, gripping Thorin’s arm tightly, and the Dwarf let him loose and willingly continued to follow him. Bilbo knew where he was headed, and it did not take long for him to find the set of doors he knew led out onto a terrace. The cool night air washed over Bilbo’s frame as he pushed his way outside, and he shivered slightly but continued onwards regardless. His eyes took in the starry sky, clear of clouds and so beautiful from their place high up on the mountain. His feet reveled in the feeling of soil beneath them, no matter how chilled, and he stretched out his toes and curled them in the lightly grassed ground.

“Here?” Thorin questioned, closing the heavy doors behind him and moving to stand beside the Hobbit.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Bilbo demanded, stamping his foot against the ground in an affronted manner. The Dwarf grinned at him with mirth and waved his hands towards the sky.

“You are not okay with a Dwarf falling upon us indoors, but you’re perfectly fine with baring yourself for the gods to witness,” he teased, and Bilbo felt a deep flush start at his neck and move up over his entire face.

“You said you would follow me!” he shouted, again tugging his open top closed about his form. It was a bit chilly outside, and perhaps not the most ideal place he could have chosen, but he liked the comfort being amongst even the smallest bit of nature brought him. Thorin approached him and placed both his hands upon the Hobbit’s shoulders.

“And I shall,” he promised, searching the other’s form thoroughly. Bilbo’s nerves were on fire as he felt the Dwarf’s gaze drag across his body. Thorin’s fingers trailed up along his neck and he shivered again as his collar was pushed back, and his shirt tossed away. Bilbo jolted as he felt the King’s robe wrap around him, and he glanced up to find the other smiling at him fondly. Thorin’s hands moved up to the sides of his face and he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the Hobbit’s lips. It was chaste, and loving, and in the span of about ten seconds Bilbo’s nerves transformed into desire. He was no longer shaking from the cold, but instead from his anticipation of what might come next.

Instead of rushing onwards Thorin placed several more tender kisses on Bilbo’s moist lips, then trailed tiny nips and pecks across his face and down his neck. Bilbo reached his arms forwards and splayed his fingers across the Dwarf’s chest, dragging his nails through the dark tough hairs and leaving white trails above the bandages on Thorin’s body.  The Dwarf let out a low groan, and pulled Bilbo to the ground, tugging the Hobbit’s body to straddle his waist. The robe fell to the ground, but Bilbo did not mind, and he wrapped a hand behind Thorin’s head and dug his fingers into the long mess of hair. He loved the feeling of Thorin’s beard chafing against his face, the tight pressure of his hands about his thighs, and the press of his arousal between his legs.

Bilbo was the one to reach out next, tugging the leather belt roughly from the other’s hips and nearly tearing them open. He pulled Thorin’s erection from its confines and stroked it just once teasingly, watching the Dwarf’s abdomen contract. Bilbo loved watching Thorin’s muscles, the way his biceps flexed when he moved his arms, and how his pectorals sometimes flinched when grazed. The Dwarf was solid everywhere, the complete opposite of Bilbo’s soft and supple body. Thorin seemed to love every inch of him just the same, massaging whatever skin he could reach.   A few more slow strokes of Thorin’s cock and Bilbo found himself naked astride the Dwarf, his breeches tossed away, and he truly was bared for all of the gods to witness.

Thorin’s fingers were spreading him and pressing along the crease of his ass, and Bilbo squirmed in his grasp as they grazed across his hole. He pulled away from Thorin’s lips and watched him dazedly as a single finger massaged the rim of his pucker before slipping inside.

He could see the questions in Thorin’s eyes. Was he alright? Was he being gentle enough? Bilbo nodded with a tiny smile, and he felt the finger move deeper inside him. The second was more difficult to handle and Bilbo bit his lip as he trembled in Thorin’s grip. The Dwarf eyed him carefully, before laying him out across the ground and spreading his legs. Bilbo groaned at the loss of fingers, but covered his mouth to hold in a gasp as the Dwarf’s tongue slid across his hole. It felt divine, and he curled his toes as the soft muscle toyed with him, pressing teasingly inside him. Thorin again inserted two fingers, much easier this time slicking the Hobbit’s passage thoroughly.

The Dwarf pulled away and lifted Bilbo’s hips atop his, pulling his hand back to stroke at his arousal. Thorin spread more saliva across himself before lining his hardness up and barely breaching the passage. His eyes moved to Bilbo’s face, watching carefully as he eased inside, his hands gripped firmly in the dirt beside the Hobbit’s head. They rocked together like that for a bit, red-faced and lust-driven, before Thorin pulled Bilbo up and held him against his chest. The Hobbit gasped and clenched around Thorin’s cock, overwhelmed by the force of the embrace.

“I love you Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin whispered, his arms trembling slightly about the other’s smaller frame. If Bilbo didn’t know better he might have thought the Dwarf was crying and sure enough when he pulled away, Thorin’s eyes were red rimmed and filled with moisture. Bilbo’s lip trembled and he tangled his fingers in the hair at Thorin’s ears, tucking some of it gently back.

“Idiot, you idiot,” he whispered, kissing the Dwarf on the nose, before he launched himself forwards and hugged the other with all his might.

“Idiot,” he spoke again, the word muffled into the Dwarf’s neck.

“I love you too,” Bilbo cried, his breath catching in his throat. He felt the Dwarf’s grip tighten further about his body and their lovemaking morphed into a gentle slow dance of bodies on the ground. Thorin pumped into his lover’s body unhurriedly, emphasising each movement with an open mouthed kiss to Bilbo’s lips. The King pulled back for a moment, brushing fingers across the Hobbit’s sweaty brow and Bilbo stared up at him heatedly before wrapping his legs tight around the Dwarf’s waist.

“Perhaps someday I’ll even let you have me atop all of that gold of yours,” Bilbo provoked, his eyes dark with a playful lust. The Dwarf shook his head in awe, clearly envisioning him draped in jewels atop a mountain of golden coins. He paused in his movements, breathless as he hardened further. His eyes closed and when he opened them it was with a possessive growl. Their climaxes approached soon after, with Thorin sucking at Bilbo’s neck fervently, and stroking his love to completion. The Dwarf followed almost immediately, holding fast to the small body beneath his as he came.

They collapsed against the ground in a haze, both emotionally drained, and Thorin tugged Bilbo’s body atop his as soon as he was physically able. They were sticky and glistening with sweat, the air much cooler now that their activities had finished. Still, neither overly desired to move. Bilbo’s fingers toyed with the edges of the bandage beneath his hands, and he idly hoped no additional harm had been caused to the Dwarf. Thorin meanwhile was tracing intricate patterns across the Hobbit’s back while he thought back on their earlier conversation.

“What is it about your rooms…that frightens you so? Or is it the entire mountain?” he suddenly asked. The two locked eyes and Bilbo’s flittered awkwardly around.

“Is there….anything I can do to make you feel more at home here, so that you might stay?” Thorin asked, assuming that Bilbo merely found his surroundings unpleasant compared to the comfort of the Shire. Bilbo opened his mouth but closed it and sat up quickly. He slid from Thorin’s grip and turned away, busying himself with putting his clothing back on.

“Just…don’t cast me away again,” his voice echoed shakily, as he slipped his arms through his shirt holes.

“Don’t make me suffer alone, wondering if you’ll ever wake up, or open your eyes,” he begged, trembling as he fought to keep from crying. He’d allowed far too many tears to fall for one night, and still his eyes burned and grew moist with more.

“Don’t you dare go starting another war!” he commanded, pausing for a moment, and raising a hand to wipe away a stray tear. He sniffled, refusing to turn back towards the Dwarf.

“And flowers, you need more flowers about,” he murmured, trying to lighten the subject, and pretend that he wasn’t an emotional wreck.

“Some trees wouldn’t hurt either, and gardens,” Bilbo’s voice blabbered on. He struggled to get his pants the right side out but gave up and threw them to the ground in frustration. His vision was suspiciously blurry.

“Maybe a touch of pipe-weed, y-your herbs here just don’t cut it,” he whimpered, breaking out into full on sobs. His shoulders shook and he clenched his fingers into fists painfully. He was on the verge of apologizing when two arms wrapped around his body from behind pulling him back against a hard chest.

“Whatever you wish, Bilbo, whatever you wish,” Thorin whispered into his ear, kissing his cheek and tasting tears for the second time that evening. The Dwarf rocked him slowly and murmured his own apologies into the other’s brown locks of hair.

“Hopefully one day you can call Erebor your home,” Thorin voiced, after the tears had ebbed and Bilbo had calmed. The Hobbit smiled, leaning into the other and closing his eyes wistfully.

“It already is, Thorin,” he admitted softly.

“It has been since the day you walked through my front door,” Bilbo voiced, and when he placed his fingers atop the Dwarf’s large hands, Thorin intertwined them with his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Read through it once, sorry for mistakes, I need to go to bed as I work early tomorrow! More oneshots probably on their way.


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